


A Friend in Need

by Lys ap Adin (lysapadin)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Consequences, Knotting, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Morning After, Omega Lance (Voltron), Omega Verse, Smut, induced rut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8135038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysapadin/pseuds/Lys%20ap%20Adin
Summary: Just because an alpha can go through rut alone doesn't mean he should.
  "Okay." Lance's palms were sweaty with what he was about to say. He was about to break so many rules. "Cards on the table, guys. We got any omegas sitting here?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Filthy, filthy a/b/o porn. Somewhat dubious consent (Shiro's not precisely in his right mind at the moment) and so much filthy smut. 
> 
> And then... the aftermath. Mwahahaha.

"Okay." Lance's palms were sweaty with what he was about to say. He was about to break _so many_ rules. "Cards on the table, guys. We got any omegas sitting here?"

If his face was hot, at least it wasn't the only one. Pidge, Hunk, and Keith were all various shades of red. They were all very carefully not looking at the door on the other side of the room from where they were sitting.

"What the fuck, Lance, you know that's not something you ask people!" Pidge sounded honestly shocked. 

Huh. Here he'd thought that wasn't a thing that could be done. "I know!" Lance held his hands up. "I _know_ , okay? I wouldn't be doing it unless, well…"

They all ended up looking at the closed door together. Shiro's door, or at least the door to the particular infirmary isolation room he'd chosen to lock himself inside once it had become clear what the stuff he'd gotten sprayed in the face with was actually doing to him.

Fucking Galra.

Hunk cleared his throat. "It won't hurt an alpha to go through rut alone." But he didn't sound sure about that.

"Not true. It doesn't _damage_ an alpha to go through rut alone. _Hurting_ is different." Keith's eyes were dark. "Trust me, I should know. I've done it."

"Alpha, huh?" Lance tried to sound light-hearted when his heart was sinking. "Guess I should have known." Damn it. Keith had been his best hope.

"No you shouldn't," Pidge said, cross. "Reproductive capabilities have _nothing_ to do with anything but reproduction. It's the twenty-second century, Lance, for God's sake."

Hunk rubbed his chin. "And yet the Garrison has us all on suppressants and birth control and it's completely against regulation to speculate about someone else's junk." He shrugged. "Not that it matters to me either way. Beta, through and through."

"This is completely archaic," Pidge declared, right before shooting a look at the door and deflating. "Technically an alpha, but honestly just not interested."

Well, _damn_. 

The three of them were looking at Lance now. "What, really? I guess I should have known it'd be up to me to save the day." He leaned back in his seat and gave them all the cheesiest grin he could muster. "Guess when you need to get the job done, there's only one person to call."

"Yeah, but Shiro's indisposed right now." Pidge leveled an unsettlingly sharp stare on Lance. "Even if you're an omega, it's not your responsibility or obligation to help Shiro out, Lance. He'll get through this on his own." 

"Pfft, I know that," Lance scoffed with more assurance than he actually felt; they were all looking at him intently. For the life of him he couldn't tell if it was any different than the way they'd have looked at him before he'd disclosed. Well, too late to take it back now, so back to the point of the conversation. "But he _is_ indisposed and could be for quiznak knows how long without someone to help him through it. If the Galra pop up before he's back to normal, that could be pretty awkward."

"If they show up while he's pounding you into the mattress, it'll be even more awkward," Keith said.

Pidge grimaced. "Thanks for that mental image, Keith, I didn't already have enough nightmares to suit me."

"I wouldn't expect the Galra to be a problem for at least forty-eight hours. We jumped the castle-ship three times and it usually takes them at least that long to find us again." Hunk glanced at the door and then settled a grave look on Lance. "If you're willing to do it—and you don't feel like this is something you're obligated to do—that should be plenty of time to get him through it, or for the princess and Coran to synthesize a neutralizing agent." That was where the two of them were now, fussing over samples of blood and scans from each of their Garrison implants and chattering to each other about the fascinating aspects of human biology.

"I don't like it, but…" Pidge scowled and Lance found himself on the receiving end of a fierce stare. "You don't have to do this."

That was actually pretty—something warm curled inside Lance's chest. "Yeah, I know. But I'm choosing to do this."

"What makes you think he even wants your help?" Keith demanded, the words abrupt. Sharp. 

Annnnnd that was Exhibit A for why Lance had really been hoping Keith would turn out to be another omega. If Shiro would accept help from anyone, it'd be Keith, and there'd be so much less chance of Keith trying to scratch Lance's eyes out afterwards. But really. He should have known Keith would be an alpha, twenty-second century or not. "I don't know that he will, and if he throws me back out again, no harm, no foul." Lance shrugged at them. "But it's Shiro. It's the least I can do for him to offer."

A muscle worked in Keith's jaw before he gritted out, "Fine," and got up to stalk out of the room. Probably heading for the training deck to beat the hell out of some practice drones, Lance decided. Typical.

Lance let out a breath after he'd gone and turned a bright smile on Pidge and Hunk. "That went well! So… which one of you wants to pick a lock for me?"

   
 

The thing he hadn't mentioned to the others (because it frankly wasn't any of their business) was this: there had been a squirming ache low in Lance's gut since just after they'd stumbled out of their Lions and a cross-current of air had brushed Shiro's scent his way. He hadn't paid attention to it at the time because they'd all been too busy hustling Shiro, red-faced and sweating, to the infirmary, but it had only grown with every whiff Lance had gotten of him. By the time Shiro had blurted, "I'm going into rut," and bolted for the isolation room, Lance had been uneasily aware that he was still kind of hard underneath his paladin armor—not necessarily unusual during a fight or its aftermath, thanks so much, adrenaline—but also sticky-wet, too. And _that_ wasn't something that just happened to him.

He'd already shared _plenty_ with the rest of the class, so when Pidge paused with the door controls hanging out of the wall to look up at him and say, "Look, are you _sure_ about this?" Lance just grinned and said, "Sure I'm sure."

Pidge gave him a look full of misgivings, but tapped two wires together anyway. The door slid open and Lance stepped inside. 

The smell was the first thing to hit him, damp and warm and heavy with sweat and musk and sex, like the faint snatches he'd caught before but a thousand times more intense. Lance's mouth ran dry as it washed over him; he went hard between one heartbeat and the next, could feel the throbbing between his legs and the rush of wetness leaking out of him. _God_.

The room was nearly dark, the lights turned down as far as they could go without being turned completely off; when the door closed behind him, he couldn't see anything but the dimmest of shapes. But he could hear just fine: Shiro panting harshly and the wet sound of skin moving over skin. 

Lance drew a deep, unsteady breath—that scent filled his lungs, made his knees weak and his head spin—and took a step deeper into the room. "Shiro?"

Shiro made a sound like a growl; Lance shuddered at it, cock aching, wetness pooling between his legs. God, he'd known that being around an alpha in rut was supposed to have an effect, but was it supposed to be this intense? "Go _away_ , Lance."

"Yeah, that's the thing." He was breathless, hot all over, and took another step into the room. His eyes were beginning to adjust, enough that he could see Shiro hunched over himself, could see the steady movement of his hand between his legs. "So you're in rut, right? I'm here to help."

"I don't need any help," Shiro sounded like he was grinding the words out. "I've got it under control."

"Yeah, I know." Lance came another step closer, stopping when Shiro growled again. "But I want to help." He licked his lips and nearly groaned when he realized he could all but _taste_ Shiro in the air. "I'm an omega." 

The confession dropped out like a stone plopping into a pool. The ripples were obvious: Shiro groaned, deep and guttural, the soft slapping sounds of him jerking himself off stuttering as he hunched over himself even further, shaking.

Lance made a sound almost like a whine, not quite meaning to, listening to the sounds Shiro made as he came. "Shiro…"

"Lance. You need to get out of here. Right now." Shiro's voice was strained. "If you don't, I'll—" He broke off and took a ragged breath. "You don't need to do this." 

That was Shiro all over, perfectly ready to endure anything he had to and not at all willing to let anyone else shoulder that burden. "I know." If Shiro hadn't been that kind of guy, he wouldn't even be offering, probably. "But I want to. Please, Shiro, let me help you." That was three times; if Shiro said no, that was it, he would go, and—

Shiro was moving before Lance quite realized it, was on him before he knew what was happening, seizing his arms and hauling him close. "Do you, Lance? Do you really?"

Lance was close enough to see the glitter in Shiro's eyes, the way his pupils were blown so wide there was only a thin ring of color around them. The scent of him was overwhelming up close; Lance's hips jerked against the air as he groaned. "God, please, _yes_."

It was enough. Shiro growled again and kissed him, sweeping his tongue into Lance's mouth ruthlessly. Lance moaned again, bringing his hands up to close on Shiro's shoulders—God, Shiro was naked, must have peeled the rest of his armor as soon as he'd locked the door. Lance swayed against him, sucking on Shiro's tongue and wrapping his arms around Shiro's shoulders as another wave of arousal rolled over him. Shiro bit at his mouth, sharp enough to sting. 

Lance forgot about that immediately as Shiro reached down to palm his ass, pulling him up tight against his thigh and grinding it between Lance's legs. He chanted Shiro's name, rubbing against him shamelessly, chasing that friction and the pleasure grinding up his spine as Shiro nosed along his jaw, nipping at the line of it, tasting him. Then Shiro found the nub of Lance's scent gland. 

Lance cried out, coming hard just from the brush of Shiro's lips over his scent gland. He bucked against the hardness of Shiro's thigh, clutching his shoulders and groaning as he spent himself, and shuddered again as Shiro swiped his tongue over the gland. "Oh… oh, Shiro, _God_ …"

Shiro growled again; the harmonics of it were distinctly pleased. Then he picked Lance up bodily and dumped him on the bed. 

Lance bounced against the mattress, his head still spinning from orgasm, and didn't understand until Shiro pulled his slippers off. "Oh, God, yes," he breathed, trying to sit up to help.

"No." Shiro spread his hand flat against Lance's chest and pushed him flat. 

That shouldn't have been as hot as it was, but Lance was beyond the point of caring about such niceties. He groaned, already hard again, everything between his legs sticky with come and slick. Shiro pulled Lance's loose pajama pants down his legs, every movement swift and economical. Lance could see reasonably well in the gloom by this point, which meant that he could see the furrow of concentration on Shiro's brow, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. He could also see Shiro's cock jutting up between his thighs, thick and dripping. Lance moaned without thinking, heat pooling low in his gut. He reached for Shiro again, stroking his hands over Shiro's chest until Shiro swatted his hands away and peeled the soaked ruins of Lance's boxers off him. 

Lance reached for him again anyway, managed to slide a hand down Shiro's chest, through a sticky patch of wetness—God, that was where Shiro had come all over himself—and stroke his fingers over the head of Shiro's cock before Shiro caught his hands again. 

"No," Shiro said again. This time he pinned Lance's hands over his head. 

The space between Lance's ears went staticky as he went pliant under Shiro, moaning with the way want had clenched on him. Shiro hummed to him; the approval in the sound spread through Lance, warm and syrup-sweet, and he let himself go boneless beneath Shiro.

Shiro hummed again. "Good boy."

Lance moaned and tipped his head back as Shiro stooped over him, mouthing his neck again, biting up and down it until every inch of his skin tingled with how Shiro was marking him. Then Shiro found the hem of his shirt and dragged it off Lance, leaving him completely bare. Lance shuddered, squirming as cooler air hit his sweat-slicked skin. Shiro growled at him to be still. 

It was easier than it should have been (maybe? he couldn't _think_ ) to obey, to leave his hands on the pillow over his head while Shiro sat up, kneeling between his legs and looking him over. Lance bit his lip when Shiro set his hands on his ankles to stroke them up his legs, pushing his knees up and spreading him out, spreading him open for display. God, Lance had never let _anyone_ look at him like this. He'd have been embarrassed if it weren't for the greedy way Shiro looked at him, the way Shiro passed his tongue over his lips and leaned in to inhale the smell of him, Lance's come and the tang of the slick dripping out of him. 

Shiro leaned closer and Lance's breath caught in his throat, because surely Shiro wasn't going to—wasn't—

Shiro traced his tongue over the inside of Lance's thigh, lapped the slick from his skin and bit down hard enough to mark him. Lance didn't know what the sound he made then was, just knew every fiber of him was drawn taut with anticipation as Shiro mouthed his way along the inside of his thighs, nuzzling closer to the juncture of them. 

When Shiro finally traced his tongue up the shaft of Lance's cock, he cried out again, clenching his hands on the pillow and trembling on the edge of coming again just from that. Shiro hummed to him and sucked the head of him into his mouth, tracing his tongue over the slit of it and along the underside. Lance shouted as he came again, pulsing over Shiro's tongue as pleasure raked through him, as merciless as the way Shiro was holding him open, as relentless as the way Shiro stroked his tongue over him until Lance whimpered for mercy.

It was beginning to occur to Lance that he might have bitten off a little more than he could chew by offering to help Shiro through his rut.

It was a little late for such realizations; Lance clutched the thin pillow as Shiro bit down on the skin at the top of his thigh. The sting jolted up his spine. _Jesus_ , he was aching with how much he wanted more than just the softness of Shiro's mouth on his skin, more than the way Shiro nuzzled his balls, his breath ghosting hot over Lance's skin, _so close_ —

Lance's back came off the bed as Shiro stroked his tongue along his slit, dragging it through the slick dripping out of him and humming. He gasped Shiro's name, his whole world narrowing down to the touch of Shiro's tongue between his legs, dipping between the folds of his slit, stroking against his entrance, soft-hot-slow, not _enough_. Shiro already had him spread out, but Lance pulled his knees higher, splayed himself even wider open, and cried out when Shiro pressed the point of his tongue inside him. " _Please_ ," he gasped, "God, Shiro, please, _please_ , fuck me…!"

Shiro growled to him; the pleased harmonics of it vibrated up Lance's spine even as Shiro pressed his tongue deeper, flicking it in and out of Lance, _God,_ Shiro was fucking him with his tongue, _fuck_ …! Lance groaned, arousal wringing down on him again, because as good as that was, it wasn't enough, wasn't what he needed. "Please, your cock, I need your cock— _fuck_!" He moaned at the sudden loss of sensation as Shiro lifted away from him, the drop-off so sudden that it _hurt_. 

Shiro hummed to him—crooned, really, something low and soothing, as he slid his hand up Lance's leg—Lance moaned again, with relief this time, as Shiro dipped his fingers into him, sliding two into him at once and sinking them deep. He rocked his hips up against Shiro's hand, groaning with how good the solid stretch of Shiro's fingers felt moving inside him. "God, please," he panted, knotting his fingers in the pillow. "Please, _please_ —" 

Shiro crooked his fingers. Lance saw stars, bucking against Shiro's hand as pleasure raked through him again, fierce and unexpected, nothing like any of the orgasms he'd ever managed to give himself. Shiro fucked him through it, working his fingers hard against Lance's body; Lance could only gasp for breath as his body rippled around Shiro's fingers, greedy for more more _more_. Then Shiro pressed a third finger into him. 

Lance jerked against the bed, crying out with the harder ache of that stretch, so _right_. "Please," he gasped, shuddering as Shiro drove his fingers against him. "Shiro, please, I need—"

"Hush," Shiro said, his voice gone deep and raspy. "I have you."

He did, he really did; Lance could hear the way he whined when Shiro slipped the fourth finger into him, stretching him relentlessly, the fullness of the feeling singing along every nerve he possessed, verging on too much and threatening to unmoor him completely, but—"Please, I need—I need—" Lance unclenched a hand from the pillow and flailed it at Shiro, not sure what he needed, exactly, except that he knew it was something Shiro could provide. 

Shiro seemed to understand. "Yeah." He moved, shifting over Lance and leaning down to kiss him again. 

Lance groaned into his mouth, tasting himself on Shiro's lips and tongue, and hooked his arms around Shiro's shoulders— _yes_ , that was it, he'd needed this, the weight and heat of Shiro over him, keeping him from flying to pieces with how much he wanted. "Please," he breathed against Shiro's mouth. "Please, I want you, _please_ , Shiro…"

Shiro groaned against his mouth, deep and hungry, and moved to nuzzle Lance's throat, his scent gland. " _Yes_ ," he breathed, hot against Lance's ear. He dragged his fingers out of Lance, curling them as he did and making Lance arch under him with the rush of sensation and its sudden absence. He mouthed Lance's throat, sucking on the scent gland until Lance gasped, and dragged the head of his cock through Lance's slick, rubbing it back and forth between the folds of his slit. 

Lance groaned and clutched at his shoulders. "Please, _please_ —oh…!" The breath cut sharp in his throat as Shiro pressed into him, so much _more_ than the stretch of his fingers had been. Lance dug his fingers into Shiro's shoulders, panting quick and light for his breath and trembling with how much it was to feel Shiro sinking home in him, groaning against his ear, taut under his hands. It was too much, more than Lance could bear, more than anyone would be able to bear. 

Shiro settled against him, buried inside him, pinning Lance to the bed with his weight. For a moment they were both still except for the harshness of their breathing. Then Shiro turned his head, pressing his mouth to Lance's scent gland, lips parted so he could stroke his tongue against it.

Lance shuddered as molten heat rolled down his spine, shuddered again as Shiro moved inside him, and suddenly what had been too much wasn't enough any more.

He gasped Shiro's name as Shiro growled against his throat. Shiro drew back, pulling out of him, the slide of his cock deliciously, tortuously slow, as Lance moaned, only to rock into him again, deep and hard enough to slide Lance up the mattress. Raw sensation jolted up Lance's spine, so intense it could hardly be called pleasure _or_ pain. He dug his fingers into Shiro's shoulders, hanging onto him and crying out, voice gone thready and thin, as Shiro rocked into him again and again, each stroke hard enough to shift him further up the mattress until Shiro braced one hand on his hip and the other on the head of the bed. 

Then there was nothing Lance could do but take the full weight and power of each thrust, nothing he could do but _feel_ the way sensation ran through him with each stroke, washing everything that was _Lance_ away until there was nothing left of him but raw instinct and feeling, his legs wrapped around Shiro's hips, his cock trapped between them, smearing slickly across Shiro's stomach as Lance came again. There was nothing but his body wringing tight around Shiro's cock, Shiro's mouth on his throat as Lance tossed his head back and keened with the pleasure turning him inside out, and the sound of Shiro's voice, low and wordless as he kept moving him, fucking him hard and not letting him come down from that edge. Lance wrapped his arms around Shiro and buried his face against Shiro's shoulder, sobbing for breath and shuddering with how good it was, how perfect it was, to be wrapped up in Shiro, filled up with his cock, the center of all his attention and desire—

Shiro groaned, the tenor of it changing, turning urgent as he slammed into Lance again—

Lance's breath stuttered; he could feel Shiro's cock getting bigger, feel the knot beginning to swell. "God," he breathed, a frisson of something he couldn't name running through him. "Oh my _God_ —"

"Shh." Shiro wrapped a hand around the back of his head, cradling it against his shoulder and crooning to him as he rocked into Lance again, faster, _larger_. "Shh, I have you, I have you…"

Lance clung to him, distantly aware of the thin, desperate sounds coming out of his mouth and the rough, soothing nonsense Shiro was spilling into his ear as he rocked against him, short and sharp. He could feel Shiro, larger with every stroke, until Lance had to whine with how brutally Shiro stretched him as he sank home. 

Shiro caught him close then, holding him tightly and grinding against him, huge and hot inside Lance, pressing against him in ways Lance hadn't even known he'd needed. He shuddered, coming apart again, cock pulsing against Shiro's stomach.

Shiro groaned, a tremor rocking him against Lance, and his hips jerked against him, the barest twitch of movement as Shiro's orgasm took him. Lance could _feel_ Shiro's cock throbbing inside him, long pulses as Shiro groaned hoarse and wordless, filling him up with his come. Lance whimpered, that knowledge pulling another shudder of pleasure out of him, and pressed his face against Shiro's shoulder, until the tension finally ran out of Shiro like spilled water. He sagged against Lance, sprawling on top of him, still locked inside him. 

Lance let his head fall back into the loose cradle of Shiro's fingers, breathing hard, dazed. Shiro turned his face and tucked it into the curve of Lance's throat, sighing into it. Lance loosened his fingers from Shiro's shoulders and reached for him, petting his hair clumsily. 

"Oh my God," he managed to say eventually. His voice was raw—probably from all the yelling he'd been doing. Christ. 

"Mmm," Shiro said, somewhere between dreamy and dazed. He nuzzled against Lance's throat, nipping his scent gland, not—quite—hard enough to break the skin.

Lance's breath caught. "Shiro. _No_." It was one thing to help Shiro through his rut, and a completely different thing to monkey around with _that_.

Shiro grumbled, discontented. "Why not?" he said, his lips brushing over the glad. "I want to."

"You're in rut," Lance said as calmly as he could when all kinds of crazy space butterflies were swooping around inside his rib cage.

"So?"

"So you're in rut," Lance said again with an evenness he was pretty proud of. "I'll do anything else you want while you're in rut, but you're gonna have to wait till you're out of rut—" And sane again. "—and ask me about bonding then. Deal?"

"Mm." Shiro lifted his head and looked at him; there was a gleam in his eyes. "Anything?"

"Sure," Lance said, fairly sure he wasn't going to survive whatever had put that look on Shiro's face but damned sure he'd enjoy the process anyway. "Anything you want, just no bonding."

"Deal," Shiro decided before stooping to claim Lance's mouth for an utterly ruthless kiss.

Lance let out a relieved sigh and returned it with enthusiasm.

After all, what were the chances Shiro would remember this little conversation once the hormones wore off, anyway?


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "Just how bad an idea do you think this is going to end up being?"
>> 
>> That got Hunk to look away from the door, surprised. "Huh?"
>> 
>> Pidge gestured at the door. "This. Lance letting Shiro fuck him. How bad an idea do you think it's going to turn out to be?"
>> 
>> Hunk grimaced, scrunching up his nose and letting his mouth go flat. "I don't know. Lance's ideas usually turn out better when the stakes are high, but…"
>> 
>> "He has crap luck when it comes to think with his crotch," Pidge suggested.
>> 
>> Hunk sighed. "Yeah. That."

When five minutes had passed and Lance hadn't come back out of Shiro's room, Pidge sighed and closed her toolkit. "Welp. Looks like it worked."

"Yeah." Hunk was watching the door, planted there like he was going to stay where he was until Lance emerged again. "I guess it did."

"Just how bad an idea do you think this is going to end up being?"

That got Hunk to look away from the door, surprised. "Huh?"

Pidge gestured at the door. "This. Lance letting Shiro fuck him. How bad an idea do you think it's going to turn out to be?"

Hunk grimaced, scrunching up his nose and letting his mouth go flat. "I don't know. Lance's ideas usually turn out better when the stakes are high, but…"

"He has crap luck when it comes to think with his crotch," Pidge suggested.

Hunk sighed. "Yeah. That."

They both looked at the door, contemplating that. Well, Pidge was contemplating that and doing her very, very best not to think about whatever might be happening on the other side. 

Hunk shook himself. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Lance knows what he's getting into, and Shiro is Shiro, rut or not. Right?"

"…right." Pidge wondered sometimes about that, about the way they relied on Shiro to be Shiro. Whether that was fair to him. But she didn't know what they'd do if Shiro _weren't_ the way he was. With luck, they wouldn't ever have to figure it out. "Okay, I'm going to the medical lab now."

Hunk blinked. "You are? Why?"

"I don't want to find out whether that door is sound-proofed, for one thing." Hunk went red and shuffled a few steps away from the door. "And I want to talk to Coran and Allura about our implants."

Hunk gave her a startled look. "Why?"

"You want the list itemized, alphabetized, or by order of precedence?" Pidge retorted, turning away from the door. Shiro and Lance would be fine, or they wouldn't; standing around wasn't going to do either of them any good now. 

Hunk tagged along after her. "I don't care, I guess. You're not worried about, um. Things. Are you?"

"It's called going into rut, Hunk," Pidge said; his fading blush returned in full force. "And _worried_ isn't the word for it. My implant should be good for another couple of years, but we don't know when we're going to get back to Earth. I want to be damn sure we've got a back-up plan in place for when it expires."

"Sure," Hunk said. "I guess that makes sense."

Pidge certainly hoped it did, since Hunk was a beta and there were some things he wouldn't get, no matter how sympathetic he might try to be. Rut, with its all-consuming instincts, was one of those things, for sure. "Anyway. Lance is a nice guy and all, but I _really_ don't ever want to end up in bed with him, you know? Just—eugh."

Hunk laughed, though Pidge wasn't actually joking. "Aw, don't tell him that, you'll hurt his feelings."

"Believe me when I tell you that I sincerely hope I never have to talk to him about any of this ever again," Pidge declared as they came to the medical lab. 

Allura was sitting, reading from a tablet, while Coran was hovering over one of the Altean computers, muttering distractedly to himself. Allura looked up from her tablet and smiled at them, what Pidge thought of as her _professional princess_ smile. "Pidge, Hunk. Welcome. Has there been some change in Shiro's condition?"

That would be the logical question for her to ask. "I guess you could say that," Pidge said. "Lance is with him now."

The moment of Allura's disconcertion was brief, only apparent in the way she blinked before understanding and smiling. "Oh, I see, because Lance is—an omega?" She pronounced the term carefully and did not miss the way Pidge twitched. "Oh, dear, did I get it wrong?"

"Nooo," Hunk said, reluctantly. "It's just… we don't usually talk about that kind of thing so openly."

Hunk was too polite, and also missing the point. "You're not supposed to just tell someone about someone else's dynamic if you're not sure whether they already know," Pidge said, blunt. "It's rude, and it can get the person you've disclosed on in a lot of trouble."

It wasn't like Allura ever let them forget that Alteans had been galactic diplomats, but it was clear that she had been trained in diplomacy all her life by the way she pressed her hands together and dipped her chin. "I see. I do apologize. If I may, though… you did say that Lance was with Shiro. Does that not imply that you know he is an omega to Shiro's alpha?"

Pidge wandered over to one of the workbenches and hoisted herself up onto its surface. She shrugged. "Implies, yeah, but doesn't confirm. Same-dynamic pairings happen, just like same-gender pairings."

"As it happens, though, Lance already told us, so you don't need to worry, Princess," Hunk said as he went over to peer at what Coran was doing.

Allura pursed her lips; she looked intrigued. "I… see. Forgive me, but… is there a stigma of some sort attached to being an omega? I only wish to understand," she added quickly. "If this is taboo, please don't feel that you need to indulge my curiosity."

"It's not taboo," Pidge said after a moment. Maybe it was for the best that Allura was asking her. God only knew what the guys would have said. "Yeah, there's some stigma. Well, it's not considered _bad_ to be an omega, but it does mean that if people know that a person _is_ an omega, they'll probably have some… ideas about how that person is going to behave. They're not always good ideas."

"Hmm, I see." Allura mulled that over. "Your species must have a very complicated approach to reproductive rituals." 

Pidge had to laugh. "Sometimes, yeah, I guess." She leaned back on her hands. "But on the subject of reproductive stuff, I wanted to talk to you about our implants."

Allura smiled at that. "Ah, yes! They're very cunning little devices, a very clever way of taking control over your biology. The computers are still working through our scans of them, of course, but Coran believes we should be able to synthesize something from the data that will let us assist Shiro." 

A worry that Pidge had very carefully been ignoring suddenly unclenched. "Good. That means you'll be able to synthesize a replacement for the rest of our implants if we need them."

"Of course, I'm sure we'll be able to manage that." Allura tapped her tablet and reached for her stylus. "Perhaps you can tell me some of the requirements for these implants?"

"Sure," Pidge said. "I mean, I'm not a doctor, I can't explain all the details, but I know the principles well enough to get us started."

Allura smiled. "I'm sure you do," she said. 

Pidge relaxed a little more. She hadn't expected Allura to deny the request, but all the same she was glad the princess didn't seem inclined to push back on the idea, either.

Other people might have felt that the Garrison's restrictions and regulations surrounding gender and dynamics were too limiting, but in all honesty, the hormonal implant had been one of the few things that _hadn't_ been a sacrifice when she'd made the choice to enroll at the Garrison as Pidge Gunderson, and she wasn't going to give that up without a fight.

* * *

Coran lifted his head from his work after Pidge and Hunk had left the lab, Hunk to prepare their evening meal and Pidge to supervise. "It's a remarkably complicated systems these humans have, isn't it?"

"It is," Allura agreed, regarding the pages of notes she'd made as Pidge had talked, and talked some more, betraying more than Allura thought she quite realized as they'd moved from the discussion of those clever little implants the four of them had to a more general discussion of human reproduction. She met Coran's eyes. "I fear the Galra have done more harm than I initially thought."

It had seemed like such a silly weapon—to trigger Shiro's reproductive cycle, which could only last a few of his human days at most? When apparently he was not capable of bearing young himself and would not be more than passingly inconvenienced? She had wondered that the Galra would have bothered. But now…

Coran smoothed his mustache. "They are all so very young," he noted.

It was kind of him to exclude her from that statement when she hadn't yet attained her first century, but it was true. The paladins were all very young, even by the standards of their own species. "We'll have to watch them, I suppose." Allura looked at her notes again. The mechanisms of the human reproductive cycles were straightforward enough; many species had their own versions of a mating season, though few of them had the curious doubled version that humans did. What evolutionary pressure must have given rise to those two routes, alpha-omega and male-female? She did hope that the war would permit them to someday learn more from Earth's biologists—Pidge and Hunk had both been vague on the particulars.

"I think that would be wise," Coran agreed. "Particularly given the volatile personalities involved."

"Yes." Allura sighed, considering the Red and Blue paladins. Fire and water always _did_ have a complicated relationship to negotiate, but Keith and Lance did sometimes take that to unexpected extremes. Pidge had seemed to think that Lance and Shiro would be able to treat this matter of Shiro's rut and Lance's assistance as a transaction, but Pidge's own manifest distaste for the idea of participating in such acts might have colored that assessment.

No. Allura checked herself. It _had_ colored Pidge's assessment. Hunk hadn't participated much in their conversation, but he'd been listening, and she'd seen him frown over some of Pidge's remarks, even shake his head once or twice.

Allura met Coran's eyes again. "We will watch them," she said, firm. "If we must, and we can, we will try to help them through this."

"Just so," Coran murmured, returning to his work. "Just so, Your Highness."

And might the stars grant that assisting her paladins be as easy as that pronouncement, Allura thought, wry with the knowledge that it likely wouldn't be.

* * *

It wasn't until after he'd said, "End training sequence," and the training drones had gone dormant that Keith became aware of two things: first, he was being watched; second, that he was _starving_. 

The second was probably due to the first. Hunk was standing back, well out of the way, and he had a covered tray. He nodded to Keith. "Hey. You didn't show up for dinner. Thought you might be hungry."

Keith's stomach forestalled any attempt to put Hunk off he might have made by growling, so he let his bayard lapse back into its neutral form as he crossed the deck to where Hunk stood. "I guess I could eat."

Hunk beamed at him; Keith tried not to wince. Food was how Hunk fussed over people, and Keith was not in the mood to be fussed over.

He didn't catch himself in time; Hunk rubbed the back of his neck as Keith lifted the tray out of his hands. "Not feeling up to company yet, huh? Just take the tray back to the kitchen when you finish up."

Keith focused on the tray, lifting the lid to peek at the contents of the bowl beneath: Hunk _really_ felt like fussing. There were noodles, chunks of the protein he'd been working on, and something that looked like pudding. 

At least there were tangible benefits to Hunk's fussing.

Keith slid down the wall to sit cross-legged on the floor and balanced the tray on his knees. "You can stay."

Hunk hovered over him, uncertain, then joined him on the floor as Keith tore into the noodles. "So, uh."

"I'm fine," Keith told him in between bites. He speared a protein chunk and popped it into his mouth. Huh. Hunk was getting the texture closer; that almost chewed like a piece of chicken. 

"You're always fine," Hunk pointed out. "You said you were fine when a building fell down on top of you."

"It was only half a building," Keith argued. "And I _was_ fine."

"You had two broken legs and a concussion. If that's your idea of _fine_ I am honestly terrified of what your idea of _not doing so good_ would look like." Hunk shook his head. "Besides, you don't spend hours chasing the robots around when you're fine."

Keith made a face at his noodles. It was still weird to him, having people around him, _multiple_ people, who paid enough attention to him to know his habits. Weirder still, the way they cared enough to follow up on what they noticed. At least Shiro didn't _push_ the way Hunk would.

Hunk went on when Keith didn't say anything. "So, um. Just so you know, Lance didn't make it to dinner, either."

"So?" Keith speared another chunk of protein, maybe with more force than was necessary, and chomped on it.

Hunk sighed. "Really, Keith? You've been in here for hours letting the robots beat the crap out of you—"

"They are _not_ beating the crap out of me, _I'm_ beating the crap out of them!" Keith said, offended.

Hunk ignored him. "—and I'm supposed to believe it doesn't have anything to do with Lance helping Shiro with his rut?"

Keith scowled at his dinner. "Yes." That had been the idea, anyway. Clearly not one of his better efforts.

"Your brain must be a strange place," Hunk told him. "And that really worries me sometimes."

Keith poked at the noodles. "No one asked you to worry about my brain."

"No, they didn't have to. It comes standard, part of the whole package of being my friend." Hunk reached over and patted his shoulder and didn't say anything about the way the fork had slipped out of Keith's fingers. "So anyway. I know I'm a beta and there's stuff about being an alpha that I just don't get, and you and Shiro have… whatever it is the two of you have going on, _and_ you might be allergic to talking about feelings or whatever, _but_. That said. If there's anything I can do, y'know, I will. Okay?"

Keith took a breath and held it for a count of ten, then let it out again on another ten-count. He picked up his fork. "Okay."

"I know you're just humoring me, but I really do mean that." Hunk patted his shoulder again and climbed to his feet. "Just remember, if I can help, I will. Try not to pass out on the deck again, okay? You know how it upsets Shiro when you do that."

" _One time_." Keith glared up at him. "That happened _one time_!"

Hunk grinned at him. "Just making sure we don't get any repeats." He laughed when Keith flipped him off and headed for the door.

Keith watched him, irritation tangled with the uneasy knowledge that Hunk had meant everything he'd said. Damn it. "Hunk." Hunk paused at the door, looking back at him over his shoulder. "Thanks for the food."

Hunk smiled at him. "No problem. Night."

"Night," Keith echoed, and Hunk left.

Keith sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. Why did other people have to be so complicated?

That wasn't a question he wasn't ever going to figure out, probably, so he went back to his food and focused on that, not the fact that he did feel just a little bit better than he had before. It was likely just the calories boosting his blood sugar, after all.

* * *

A partnered rut was a different thing from one unpartnered. It would be shorter for one thing, biology and the mating instinct sated by the presence of a partner (or partners; Hunk had heard stories, probably every beta had, and what was true and what was just pornographic fantasizing was difficult to distinguish). Shiro's rut had been triggered by the Galra, sure, but as far as they'd been able to tell from his blood work and the scraps of human physiology they collectively remembered from their sex ed and biology coursework, it had _seemed_ normal enough, other than its start.

That was why Hunk had brought his current project down to the infirmary and stationed himself outside Shiro's room. He could tinker with the Altean tech anywhere—it was something akin to the cloaking device Pidge had installed on some of the escape pods and Green. If he could just figure out how to size its power source down some, then they could probably adapt it for smaller objects, like, say, paladins. Maybe Keith and Shiro could pull off the ninja thing on innate talent and training, but the rest of them could certainly use a little assistance.

It made for a good way to pass the time, at any rate.

There probably wasn't any reason to stake Shiro's room out, Hunk mused as he investigated the Altean power couplings. Probably everything would be just fine—Shiro would be sheepish and embarrassed, and Lance would be sheepish and maybe just a _little_ proud of himself. They'd all tease the two of them some, and then everyone would put the whole thing behind them. There was a war on, after all. They all had more important things on their mind than sex. So yeah, there'd be a few days of teasing Shiro and putting up with Lance's swaggering around the place, and then they'd all get over it and move on. Probably that was exactly what would happen, right?

Yeah. Definitely. 

All the same, Hunk couldn't help thinking that it was probably a good idea to have someone on hand, just in case. Lance would need someone to appreciate his boasting, anyway, and Hunk had plenty of practice on that. 

And if things weren't just fine—which of course they would be—well. It wouldn't be a bad idea to be on hand, just in case someone needed to pick up the pieces.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Shiro woke up with a headache that throbbed in his temples—rather like a hangover, really, except that he wasn't the drinking type. Lance was sprawled across his chest, snoring softly in his ear.
>> 
>> Wait, _what_?

Shiro woke up with a headache that throbbed in his temples—rather like a hangover, really, except that he wasn't the drinking type. Lance was sprawled across his chest, snoring softly in his ear.

Wait, _what_?

Shiro hadn't survived his months of Galra captivity or the ensuring war by having slow reflexes. He froze where he lay and conducted a rapid inventory of his memories: the raid on the Galra base, which had turned out to be some kind of unholy Druid research facility; getting a faceful of some kind of chemical agent; the onset of symptoms and the realization of just what was happing; the burning, desperate ache of rut without a partner; and then… Lance. 

There was a whole _lot_ of Lance, Lance in every sort of pornographic arrangement Shiro's apparently fevered alpha imagination could contrive and a few that Shiro was vaguely convinced Lance had come up with himself. 

_Fuck._

There was something else, too, something that made Shiro's blood run cold when he remembered it—surely he hadn't tried—

Moving as slowly as he could, Shiro lifted his hand and carefully tipped Lance's head to the side. 

Lance's scent gland was swollen and flushed, surrounded by bite marks and places Shiro wished he didn't remember marking, but it was intact.

Shiro started to breathe again. 

He promptly stopped when Lance stirred and nuzzled against his fingers. "What, again?" he slurred, clearly still half-asleep. "You _beast_." He turned his face a bit more and kissed Shiro's fingertips, parting his lips to lap at the pads of them. 

"Um," Shiro said, frozen beneath him. "Um. Lance."

Lance closed his lips around Shiro's index finger and sucked. "Hmm?"

Shiro _really_ wished that his brain hadn't helpfully provided several vivid memories of other things Lance had recently wrapped his lips around.

" _Lance_ ," he said again. 

Lance opened his eyes (more or less) and turned a hazy smile on him. "Yeah?"

"I—um." Shiro stopped there, at a loss for what to say.

Fortunately, he didn't need to say anything. After a moment, Lance blinked at him, alertness chasing the soft, dreamy edges off his expression. "Oh. Oh, hey, are you all done? Dude, you should have said." 

As if that weren't exactly what Shiro had been trying to figure out how to do. 

Lance cracked one of his easy-going smiles at Shiro, but it didn't reach all the way to his eyes, which had gone wary. Watchful. A little uncertain. "Sorry, let me get out of your space." He peeled himself off Shiro, carefully since the bed was narrow, really only meant for one person. His skin was _littered_ with marks: bruises that would match the shapes of Shiro's fingers, bite marks to match his teeth, and places where he'd put his mouth on Lance and sucked until the blood had risen to the surface of Lance's skin, all because Lance had repeatedly denied him whenever he'd gotten too close to his scent gland. 

Shiro hastily turned his eyes away from Lance and stared at the ceiling, which couldn't get him in trouble no matter how long he stared at it. "I—" he said, but he stopped again, at a loss for what he was supposed to say now. 

Lance patted his knee. "I'm glad you're feeling better, man. Once we get you a shower and some space coffee, you'll be just fine, yeah?"

"…sure," Shiro said, for lack of anything else to say. He could see what Lance was trying to do—give him an out, pretend everything was normal, pretend nothing had happened that they needed to talk about, pretend that the past—day? Days? Had never happened.

That was… actually, probably, the most sensible way to handle it, under the circumstances. Garrison regulations prohibited fraternization for many good reasons, but… everyone knew that things went wrong sometimes. Deployment was less predictable than being on base; accidents happened. When they did, people had to get through them as best as they could and hope the official inquiry afterwards justified their choices.

He'd been quiet too long. Lance leaned over him, interposing his face between Shiro's eyes and the ceiling. "Hey. Um. You okay?" He caught his lip between his teeth and _God_ , his mouth was still swollen, bruised with kissing and… other things. 

Shiro wanted to reach up and pull Lance back down to him and taste his mouth again, to see whether it was as delicious as he recalled it being— _no_. No, that was just the lingering aftereffects of the rut. He was going to do no such thing to Lance, who had been more than generous enough already. 

Shiro cleared his throat. "I'm fine. Just… I feel like I've got a hangover, that's all."

Lance's expression cleared. "Oh, right. I can see that, totally. Man, I wish we'd been able to get a sample of that stuff they tagged you with. I bet the princess and Coran could whip up some kind of antidote to it."

Shiro closed his eyes, mostly to block out Lance's face in hopes that it would dim the urge to reach up and—no. There wasn't anything he could do to block out the smell, his scent and Lance's so mixed together there was no separating the two. Instead he focused on the practical. "It was my mistake. I—"

"Dude, really? How is the Galra having surprise chemical warfare up their sleeves _your_ fault?" Lance sounded indignant. "C'mon, Shiro, that's just—"

"I lost my implant when I lost my arm." Shiro made himself look at Lance, who'd gone wide-eyed. "This would have happened sooner or later. I should have thought about that before. Asked Allura and Coran to help synthesize a suppressant. I didn't, and that was extremely irresponsible of me."

Lance—smiled at him, the expression sweet. "You're too hard on yourself." He sounded _affectionate_.

Oh, God. Lance was an omega, an omega who'd just spent Shiro's rut with him. Shiro could _hear_ the charges for undue influence they'd be reading at his court martial just looking up at him. 

He had to put a stop to this before things could get any more out of hand. "I don't think the Garrison would agree." He risked putting his hand on Lance's shoulder to push him back, away and out of his space, so he could sit up. He pretended not to hear the quick intake of Lance's breath. "I appreciate that you wanted to help, I really do, but I wish you wouldn't have. It wasn't at all fair of me to take advantage of you."

He very carefully kept his eyes and his hands to himself as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

After a beat, Lance said, "Hey, I'm pretty sure _I'm_ the one who took advantage of _you_. I chose to offer, and you didn't even really choose to go into rut. So don't feel bad for me, okay? I'm sorry that I put you in a bad place. I was—Keith said going through rut alone _hurts_ , and I didn't want that for you."

Shiro couldn't help himself; when he looked at Lance, Lance was wearing a tight, unhappy look. He offered Shiro a rueful, tiny smile. "I guess I wasn't thinking long-term. I just—you already do so much. I figured this was the least I could do to make your life a little easier. I'm sorry that I made it harder instead. So please, don't blame yourself, okay?"

That was too generous of Lance, but—they had to put this behind them somehow, for the sake of Voltron if nothing else. "I don't blame you. You were doing what you thought was best, and it was a kind thing to do. I appreciate the thought behind it very much." He gave Lance the most reassuring smile he could manage. "Maybe we should just blame the Galra and call it square, okay?"

Lance snorted at that. "The Galra _are_ awful. They ruin _everything_ , the jerks."

"They certainly do," Shiro agreed. "So it's all their fault."

"Right," Lance said. "Totally." He stretched his arms over his head and twisted until _Shiro_ could hear his back popping. "Okay, though, it's seriously time for a shower and space coffee. And space breakfast, I'm starving."

Shiro averted his eyes from the casual display and began the hunt for his clothes. From what he remembered of trying to get out of his armor, he was lucky that the body suit wasn't in shreds. Given his current condition, it was also a good thing that the body suits were easy to clean.

"Right," Lance said after a beat. "I'm going to turn the lights up a little, okay? I have no idea what you did with the stuff I was wearing, so…"

Shiro felt his face go hot. "Uh… yeah. Go ahead." He began pulling the body suit on faster, focusing on that task and nothing else as the lights brightened and Lance began hunting around for his clothes. Better to give Lance something like privacy for that, better not to give himself any more temptations.

"So, uh," Lance said after a minute and some rustling. "Seriously, though. You okay?"

"Sure." Shiro felt a little safer in risking a look Lance's way now that he wasn't naked, now that Lance had put on his pants and donned his robe—no one could fault Lance for a lack of forethought. "I'm just fine. Or I will be after that shower and coffee."

Lance looked at him, his shirt clutched in one hand and a slipper in the other. "If you're sure," he said at last. "Just… let me know if there's anything I can do to help, okay?"

"Of course," Shiro told him, privately resolving not to do any such thing. Lance had already gone above and beyond for him, after all.

"Right," Lance said, perhaps not quite convinced of his sincerity. He shook his head and looked around. "Do you see my other slipper anywhere?"

In the ensuing hunt for the missing slipper, the moment slipped away. Shiro did not let himself regret it.


	4. Situation Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Huh. So that was what _rode hard and put away wet_ meant.

There was a phrase he'd heard his moms and their sisters use, talking to each other in one of those conversations that involved a lot of laughter and significant looks. Hunk had gotten the gist of it from the context, but he hadn't really understood it until he heard the door to Shiro's room slide open and looked up in time to see Lance emerge. 

Huh. So that was what _rode hard and put away wet_ meant.

Hunk could have done without Lance being the object lesson, but there was no denying that it fit. He was thoroughly rumpled, hair sticking up in all directions, and _wow_ , that was a lot of hickeys. And, um. Bite marks. Wow. 

Lance hadn't expected to see anyone outside waiting for him, because he wasn't bothering to smile and just looked tired. And sort of sad, at least in the split second before he realized Hunk was sitting there.

He pulled himself together fast, shoulders straightening as he gave Hunk a jaunty smile. "Hey, buddy. What's up?"

Well, damn. Hunk watched Lance's eyes dart around the room and the way he relaxed when he realized it was just Hunk there. "Eh, not much. Things all wrapped up?"

Lance shrugged as he came away from the door, moving a little stiffly and self-consciously. Well, more self-consciously than usual—this was Lance, after all, Hunk mused as he picked up his toolkit and the cloaking engine and stood. Lance was always self-conscious, whether he let on or not. "Guess so."

So much for hoping that everything would be just fine. 

Hunk fell in with Lance and wrinkled his nose. "Wow. Dude, you need a shower. Like, _wow_."

Lance groaned. "I _know_ , right? This is worse than that seven-day survival class." He plucked at his robe. "I didn't think _anything_ could be worse than that."

"Me either," Hunk agreed, trying to find a way to walk upwind of Lance and doing his best not to think about why Lance smelled the way he did. "Congrats on reaching new levels of filth."

He waited, wondering whether Lance would take the opening, but Lance just rolled his shoulders and grimaced. "It's an honor, really it is."

"Better you than me," Hunk told him. At least they were making a beeline for the personnel deck and their quarters—and the attached bathing facilities. 

"Ugh," Lance said, and that was all for a while. 

Hunk kept pace with him and let him be, at least until they hit the corridor junction on the personnel deck where they could split up. "So, Shiro doing okay?"

Lance took a quick breath and turned a crooked smile on him. "He's about the same as always."

That would sound like _he's fine_ to just about anyone else, but Hunk was the one who'd stayed up late with Lance too many times to count, talking about their teammates. Worrying over them together. And with Lance, it was always about what he _didn't_ say. Hunk whistled through his teeth. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Lance rubbed a hand over his face. "It's all his fault, you know."

"Of course it is," Hunk said, watching Lance closely. Not that Lance was meeting his eyes. "So… situation normal?"

Lance gave him a tired smile. "Yeah. Situation normal." He stretched his shoulders. "Okay, if I don't get a shower, like, five minutes ago, I am gonna _die_."

"Sure," Hunk said. "Hey, you hungry?"

That got him a real smile. "Dude, am I ever not hungry?"

"Point," Hunk said. It was getting close to dinnertime anyway. "I'll see what I can rustle up."

Lance bumped his shoulder. "Thanks, man."

"No problem," Hunk said, wishing that were actually true.

* * *

"Huh, what's the occasion?" Pidge asked when she wandered into the kitchen and found Hunk surrounded by culinary detritus. She eyed the countertop, but there were bowls everywhere and she wasn't due for another lecture about what constituted appropriate sanitary behavior in Hunk's kitchen just yet, so she elected to pull a stool up to the counter instead.

Hunk didn't say anything right away; he was in the middle of rolling out dough. From the looks of the bowls, they were having those stuffed turnover things for dinner. Lance really liked those, so Pidge wasn't very surprised when Hunk said, "Lance looked hungry when I saw him a while ago."

Right. "He did, huh?" Pidge propped her chin on her hands and watched Hunk start spooning fillings into circles of dough. Hunk's perspective on how hungry they looked tended to correlate directly with how worried he was about them. By the looks of it, Hunk was making a mountain of turnovers, maybe even enough to feed a battalion of Galra. Hoo, boy. "Things work out okay with him and Shiro?"

Hunk paid more attention to the filling he was spooning out than Pidge, no expert in the kitchen, suspected was really necessary. "He didn't say much, really. Just that Shiro was back to his usual self."

Well, damn, that wasn't a good sign, or so Pidge was guessing, what with the amount of food Hunk was in the middle of making. She glanced toward the door, but the coast seemed to be clear. All the same, she lowered her voice. "Bad?"

Hunk glanced up at her and nodded. "Kinda looks that way, yeah."

"Well, shit," Pidge said, since that just about summed it all up. She shook her head and reached out for a piece of dough with a blob of filling and got to work folding and sealing the turnover, since that much was something she could do. 

Hunk gave her a little nod and didn't say anything about the fact that she wasn't even trying to pleat the edges the way he would. Then he said, "Oh, hey, Shiro."

Pidge put the first turnover aside and reached for the next, sneaking a peek at Shiro as she did. He was hovering in the doorway; if Pidge was any judge, she'd say he looked _caught_. Probably hadn't wanted to run into anyone just yet, she figured, and here she and Hunk were. She sealed the turnover and added her greeting to Hunk's. "Hey, Shiro. You hungry? Hunk's got enough food here to feed an army."

"Dinner in forty-five, probably," Hunk agreed. "Probably less."

Shiro hesitated visibly, which wasn't like him. "…actually, I was just gonna grab a bowl of space goo and crash."

"What? Aw, man, Shiro, no, that's just not right," Hunk protested. "Come on, sit down, I've already got the oil going, there's no call to resort to the space goo." He dropped the spoon back in the bowl of fillings as he talked and began pleating turnovers, doing two for each one that Pidge was sealing up. As Shiro opened his mouth, he added, "Don't you even try to tell me not to go to the trouble, because it's totally not."

Shiro shut his mouth and raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "All right," he said, sounding resigned. "If you insist."

"You should have known he would," Pidge told him. "You know Hunk has opinions about the space goo."

Shiro managed to smile at that. "Yeah, I guess I should've known, at that."

"Space goo isn't food, okay? The best you can say for it is that it's the building blocks of food, and _that_ , my friends, is honestly a stretch." Hunk whisked several of the turnovers onto a plate and headed for the range. "C'mon, Shiro, sit down and make yourself comfortable, this isn't going to take long."

There were probably other things than coming in and sitting down that would have been even _less_ comfortable for Shiro, but Pidge couldn't think of any just off the top of her head. He came away from the door anyway and pulled up a stool next to Pidge's. She kept working on the turnovers while Hunk slipped some into the hot oil and the sound of sizzling filled the room.

What they needed to do was just rip the bandaid off, Pidge decided, so she bent her head over the next turnover, focusing on trying to replicate the pleats Hunk created so effortlessly, and said, "So you feeling better now that you've got the rut out of your system?"

Shiro choked on thin air; Hunk groaned and actually took a step away from the range so he could bang his head against the closest wall. " _Really_ , Pidge?"

"What, we're supposed to pretend we don't all know what happened?" Pidge rolled her eyes. "Please."

Shiro had his hand over his face; when he spoke his voice was muffled. "I was hoping we could at least _try_."

"Yeah, you probably should have known better than _that_ , too," Pidge told him. "Consider who you're working with, here."

Shiro sighed but didn't argue the point. 

Hunk shook his head and went back to his turnovers, which were starting to fill the air with the scent of fried dough. "Pidge, you are the epitome of tactless."

"Someone had to say something," Pidge said.

Hunk snorted. "If you say so." Then, proving that addressing the elephant in the room _was_ the right call, he went on. "Anyway. _Are_ you feeling better? I mean, all things considered."

Shiro finally lowered his hand from his face; barring a little tiredness around the eyes, he looked pretty much like his normal self. And really, Pidge could barely remember what Shiro looked like when he _wasn't_ tired. "I'm just fine, Hunk."

That wasn't actually the question, but Pidge doubted that they'd get any other answer from Shiro anyway. "That's good. Oh, hey, fair warning, Allura and Coran are probably going to turn you into their lab rat when they realize you're all rutted out."

Shiro went stiff in her peripheral vision; Hunk uttered a barely audible groan. 

Oh. Oh, wow, okay, yeah, maybe that hadn't been the best choice of words, given the Galra thing. Pidge made a face at herself and carried on. "I asked them to start working on suppressants for when my implant expires, since I'm really not into the idea of going into rut, like, _ever_. They were making noises about wanting to take another look at your blood work once it was back to baseline." 

"They keep complaining about how small their sample population is," Hunk volunteered. "Which is fair, I guess, there's only the five of us and I'm just a beta, though I guess that kind of makes me the control? I don't know, Altean science is so weird sometimes."

Shiro had begun to relax, though it was anyone's guess whether that was because he'd gotten past the initial _hell no_ reaction or because he was forcing himself to relax. "They're already working on suppressants?" He sounded very calm, so—forcing himself, then. "That's good. I was going to ask them about that myself."

"Yeah, we're way ahead of you." Pidge tried not to make her glance obvious. The Garrison implants went into the right bicep, so… yeah, Shiro must have lost his implant, too. "They said it won't be a problem, they just need to mess around with it for a little bit first."

"Right, sure."

Hunk began fishing turnovers out of the oil and piling them up on the plate, which he then brought to Shiro. "All right, here you go, guaranteed a thousand times better than the space goo."

Shiro smiled at him; Pidge didn't think it looked too forced. "Thanks." He hesitated and said, "I'm just gonna… head to my quarters. I'm going to crash the second I get some food in me, so… yeah."

Hunk smiled at him, all reassuring. "Totally. Sleep well, Shiro."

"Yeah, we'll see you in the morning," Pidge added.

Shiro gave them both a quick nod and left—fled, really, but who would hold that against him?

Hunk waited for a solid ten-count before turning his _so disappointed right now_ expression on Pidge. She held up her hands. "Hey, you _know_ we can't just pretend that nothing happened. If we act like it's just one more piece of our crazy Voltron life, though, then maybe we can get through it without too much trouble."

Hunk shook his head. "I don't think there's enough faking it in the universe for us to be able to make this one."

"Hey, if you've got other ideas, I'm open to suggestions," Pidge retorted.

Hunk's shoulders slumped; he went back to spooning out filling. "Yeah, I'm still working on that."

"Yeah, you might want to work faster," Pidge said. "You know, considering."

"Yeah, I know," Hunk said, mouth pressed flat. "Trust me, I know."

That was really all that could be said about that.

* * *

Keith had stopped by the infirmary once, when the counter in his head was approaching the thirty-six-hour mark, but Hunk had already been there, bent over some project of his, and Keith had left again. Stopping by the infirmary had been a silly impulse, anyway, one not even worth indulging when there were more useful things he could do with his time.

The third time one of the training droids knocked him halfway across the deck, Keith conceded that he wasn't getting much from training except for an interesting set of bruises. He terminated the sequence, since there was no point in training if he wasn't going to be focused enough to benefit from it. 

(There wasn't any point in thinking about why his focus was shot, either. The minutes and hours kept mounting up where he let himself pay attention to them or not.)

He took his restlessness down to Red's hangar instead, spent time in the pilot's chair running diagnostics and letting her presence wrap around him, the shifts of her moods a distraction from his own for at least a while. Eventually that paled too, and Keith found himself pacing back to the inhabited parts of the castle-ship.

He veered away from the infirmary at the last minute, annoyed with his feet for steering him that way without his permission, and made himself walk up to the observation deck instead. The stars held his attention for a little bit, but even they couldn't hold him for long.

But it was close to dinnertime anyway. Keith focused his attention on that, made himself wonder whether Hunk was going to cook or leave them to fend for themselves (or fend Coran off), and made his way down to the kitchen to find out.

He found Lance first.

Even Keith could tell that Lance hadn't been expecting to run into anybody in the little-used access corridor that ran between the public areas of the castle-ship and the support and private areas of the personnel deck. For one thing, he yelped when Keith came around the corner and nearly mowed him down. For another, he hadn't been smiling before Keith had surprised him, and that was just as good a sign—if Lance thought there were people watching him, he usually had some kind of stupid resting smirk on his face. He only showed other expressions when he thought he was alone, or, okay, if he thought it was just him and Hunk.

Lance jumped back with his usual lack of coordination, and the only thing that kept him from falling flat on his ass was the grab Keith made for him, his hand on Lance's shoulder to haul him forward, back over his center of gravity and nose-to-nose with Keith. 

They stared at each other, then Lance flailed. "Jesus, Keith, would it kill you to watch where you're going?"

"Watch where I'm going? Maybe you should watch where you're going," Keith snapped, turning loose of Lance belatedly and taking a step back. Lance must have just gotten out of the shower; his hair was still damp and the scent of the Altean soap he favored clung to him like an obnoxious, nose-tickling cloud of tea-spice-ginger. Ugh, Keith was going to be smelling that for the rest of the night. He should have just let Lance fall on his ass.

"Hey, now, I'm not the one who came barreling out of nowhere," Lance argued, making a big production out of straightening his jacket and smoothing his shirt.

He might have said something else, but Keith didn't hear it. He was too busy staring at Lance's throat, which was a mess of rosy bruises and the marks of _teeth_ and good God, that swollen, bruise-dark spot was Lance's _scent gland_. He'd never seen anything like that, not in real life. (What he'd seen in porn was another story.) Keith stared, took a step closer, back into that cloud of annoying Lance-scent, and leaned in—

Lance shoved a hand in his face and pushed him back. "Whoa. Dude. Personal space. You ever heard of it?" He was smiling, sort of—it wasn't right. After a moment, Keith realized that it was because Lance wasn't smiling with his eyes, looked—tense. Angry, maybe, or something like that. 

Maybe he had some reason for that. Keith rubbed a hand over his face, his nose itching like an oncoming sneeze. "Sorry, I—sorry."

Lance just looked at him and shook his head. "Whatever." He turned away from Keith, heading in the direction of the kitchen without taking the opportunity to gloat over the apology or to start an argument with Keith. After a few steps he reached up and flipped his hood over his head. 

There wasn't any point to it, though Keith didn't bother telling him. That would have meant telling Lance that the image of his throat seemed to have burned itself into his retinas. 

Keith gave his head a shake, trying to clear it, and followed after Lance, hoping that Hunk had made something sinus-clearing for dinner, something that would get Lance's stupid scent out of his nose.

* * *

Pidge and Hunk had explained that the human mating cycle, rut as they had termed it, would last a fairly short period of time, so Allura was not surprised to arrive in the dining hall for dinner with the paladins and find Lance sitting at the table. Aside from its start, Shiro's rut had been normal as far as any of them could tell, and it had been some forty hours since its onset. 

What was less clear was why Lance was sitting with his arms folded across his chest and his hood pulled up to shadow his face. He'd never worn it that way before; Allura had concluded that the hood was merely an ornamental feature of his preferred style of clothing. Now she was forced to re-evaluate that. Perhaps there was some cultural significance to the choice related to his status as a recently mated individual with the capacity to bear young—an omega. Pidge's discussion of omegas had certainly implied that there was a status differential attached to that dynamic, and certainly humans wouldn't be the only species with modesty customs.

Allura made a mental note to look into the matter further—if recent events had brought about changes in her paladins' cultural mores, it behooved her to find a way to accommodate them as best as she could—and smiled at Lance. "Good evening, Lance, it's good to have you back with us."

He alleviated one concern by lifting his gaze from the table and flashing a grin at her; at least he felt no compunctions about interacting with her despite mating with Shiro. "Aw, did you miss me, Princess? I'm sorry I had to leave you alone for so long."

"I assure you, I managed to carry on somehow," Allura told him, perhaps a little amused that Lance was as determined to woo her as ever. Perhaps there were fewer strictures on his new status than she'd feared. 

At the other end of the table, Keith snorted. "Translation: no one actually missed you." He, too, had his arms crossed, and he wasn't looking at Lance with so much studied purpose that it could only be deliberate. Was it taboo for him to look at Lance if Lance had mated with another alpha?

That was another question to seek answers for; in the meantime, Allura intervened before they could begin arguing. "But where is Shiro?"

Keith lifted his head and Lance seemed to hunch slightly. "I think he said he was going to go back to his quarters and sleep the rest of it off?"

Keith opened his mouth and shut it again, frowning. 

Before Allura could decided whether it was appropriate to probe for more information or let that pass unremarked, Coran came in, carrying a tray of drinks, followed by Pidge and Hunk, who was carrying a tray piled high with—ah, it was those fried, stuffed pastries. "Are we talking about Shiro?" Pidge asked as she placed a filled plate on the table and took her seat. "He grabbed something to eat and went to bed already. I think he's trying to sleep off the embarrassment." She looked at Lance and cocked her head. "What's with the hood? You cold or something?"

Lance hesitated for a tick too long before saying, "Yeah. Freezing."

"These will warm you up," Hunk said, leaning over Lance's shoulder and placing several pastries on his plate as Coran passed out drinks. 

Lance did sit up straighter; Allura could see the smile spread across his face. "Aw, dude, you shouldn't have."

"Shut up," Hunk told him good-naturedly, taking the seat next to him.

Meanwhile, Pidge was smacking Keith's hand away from her plate. "Hands off, these are mine."

"They look the same as the rest," Keith objected.

"They're not." Pidge curled a protective arm around her plate. "These are actually safe to eat."

"If by _safe_ you mean _offensively bland_ ," Hunk said, passing the tray down the table after piling several of the pastries on his own plate. 

"Hey, just because I don't have an asbestos-lined mouth…" Pidge said, grinning. "Or maybe you guys just don't have enough taste buds."

"Or maybe you're just a wuss," Keith said as he filled his plate and passed the tray along.

"Or maybe I'm a wuss," Pidge agreed cheerfully. 

Their banter filled the room as everyone began to eat, by now familiar enough to be comfortable even in Shiro's absence, though Allura thought it was, perhaps, a bit forced—there was what Pidge had said about Shiro's attempting to sleep away his embarrassment as well as Lance's hood and the way Hunk seemed to be watching him more closely than usual. There were undercurrents moving beneath the chatter, and the stars alone could say what they were or what hidden hazards were shaping them.

Allura listened; when the talk lulled, she took the opportunity to speak. "Lance, do you believe you'll be ready to resume our normal training schedule tomorrow morning?"

Lance froze for just a tick, barely perceptible, before shooting a curiously flat look up the table at her. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Oh, quiznak, she'd managed to misstep somehow. Allura smiled at him, hoping he would see she'd meant no offense. "I don't know, which is why I asked. Your species' mating customs are still largely a mystery to me after all." She raised a finger. "Please do not take that as a request for a personal demonstration."

Lance's expression and posture eased somewhat. "Your loss, Princess." He shrugged. "But I'm good to go for training, since you asked."

"I'm glad to hear it," Allura said, making a mental note to revisit the question again, but privately, so she could apologize for causing offense and so that Lance might feel comfortable enough to explain where and how she had caused it. "Will Shiro be ready to resume training, too?"

"Define _ready_ ," Pidge muttered, quietly enough that she probably hadn't meant to be heard. 

Hunk apparently didn't share her misgivings. "If we're going to start training again in the morning, Shiro will be there." 

"And a good thing, too," Coran said. "We've had quite enough lollygagging these past two cycles."

That earned him a few groans as some of the tension dissipated, precisely as he must have meant for it to do: Coran did have a useful knack for finding activities that would unite their paladins in shared distaste. 

Allura smiled at the four of them, letting a spark of mischief slip into it. "Come now, paladins, think of how well-rested and ready for new challenges you'll be after two cycles of leisure. I'm sure we'll be able to set you at a new level in the morning."

"Oh, God, we're all gonna die," Lance groaned. "Hunk, tell my mother I loved her."

Hunk looked as dismayed as Lance sounded. "What, no, dude, you're going to have to tell my moms I loved them, okay?"

Lance turned a doleful look on him. "How'm I gonna do that when I'm dead?"

"I don't know, I'm going to be dead too!"

Keith rolled his eyes and pushed his chair back from the table. "Thanks for dinner, Hunk. I'm going to bed," he announced, even as he picked up his plate, which still had pastries on it. "Night."

Hunk left off arguing with Lance over which of them would be carrying final messages to the other's loved ones to look after Keith, frowning slightly. Whatever he was thinking was something he didn't care to say out loud. After a moment he reached over and dragged the tray of pastries closer and piled some more on Lance's plate. "Eat up, man, you're gonna need your strength if you're gonna survive what the princess has in store."

The moment passed as Lance whined, "Hunk, I thought you were my friend!"

Allura caught Coran's eye; he dipped his chin in a slight nod. One of the first things on tomorrow's agenda would be a diagnostic exercise to see just where their paladins stood in respect to one another. After all, there was no way they could set about repairing matters without knowing where the cracks in their bond was, was there?

When it had become clear that Hunk had gently (but insistently) relieved Coran of cooking duty, Shiro had instituted a rule that the rest of them had attend to the matter of cleaning up after meals. In principle, Allura quite approved of the rule, as it was only fair. In practice… well, in practice sometimes she had to remind herself of the times her father had told her that a princess served her people. Tonight, however, she was glad of the rule, because it was Lance and Coran's turn to clean up at the end of the meal. 

Coran ceded his place to her without a word. Pidge had opened her mouth when Lance had begun to stack up the plates, but closed it again when she saw Allura begin to gather up their emptied cups. She nudged Hunk when it seemed he was going to speak up, perhaps for the same reasons Pidge had, and once again Allura was struck by how perceptive her paladins could be when they chose. Hunk didn't look entirely happy, but he wished Lance a good evening and wandered out of the dining hall with Pidge, the two of them already discussing one of their mechanical projects. 

Lance was quiet as they gathered up the dirtied dishes and carried them into the kitchen, but he did groan when he found the mess that was waiting for them. "Aw, man, Hunk, can't you cook without using every dish in the castle?"

Allura surveyed the mess, feeling a bit rueful herself. Perhaps she should have tried having this conversation at another point and let Coran have his turn at clean-up instead. "Would you prefer to wash or tidy the counters?" 

Lance glanced at her and then looked away again just as quickly. "I'll take the counters."

"All right," Allura agreed. She watched him begin gathering up the dirtied bowls and spoons, face hidden by his hood—ah. The hood. Were he to choose to wash, he'd have to take off the jacket he wore.

Allura rolled her sleeves up and began scraping dishes into the organics cycler, considering where to begin. Well, the apology would likely be best. "I believe I offended you earlier, Lance. I am sorry that I did so."

"What? Huh?" Lance looked at her, and for all that he seemed puzzled, Allura didn't think he truly was. "What are you talking about?"

Allura arched her eyebrows at him, and he looked away. "When I asked whether you would be ready to resume training in the morning," she said. "The question seemed to bother you."

"Oh, that. That's nothing, don't worry about it." Though his tone was light, there was tension in his shoulders. 

"Lance. Please." Allura watched him as he gripped a bowl and his knuckles paled. "I will not ask you to tell me anything you do not wish to share, but I need you to know that I did not intend anything by my question. Your ways are not my ways, and I know very little of them. I do know of species whose mating cycles are very arduous, however, and merely wanted to be sure you and Shiro would not find immediately resuming your regular duties too taxing."

Lance didn't respond right away—didn't move, right away, and when he did it was slowly, picking up spoons and dropping them into the bowl with a clatter. At length he said, "I guess you wouldn't know." He gathered up the rest of the spoons and brought the bowl over to where she was working. His expression was more serious than he usually permitted it to be. "It's a thing, with some people. To act like omegas are, I dunno. Fragile, I guess. Not as tough as alphas are. Or betas, for that matter." He shrugged. "So, you know. Your question kind of hit that, that's all."

"I see." It was possible she saw more than Lance intended, but that was not something Allura intended on telling him. "I am sorry, Lance. I have no doubt that you are as tough as any of your fellow paladins."

Lance looked at her, eyes still, and then dipped his head. "Thanks." He turned away and went back to gathering up dirtied bowls and bringing them to her. 

Allura scraped out the bowls, thinking as she worked, before saying, "I suspect I will make more mistakes as we go forward. If I do, it would be a kindness for you to tell me, if you are willing to do so."

"Yeah?" Lance brought the last of the bowls to her and retrieved the cleanser to begin wiping down the counters. "I guess I can do that."

"Thank you, Lance."

"Eh, don't mention it." Lance tried to push his sleeves up and made a frustrated sound when they wouldn't stay up. "Damn it."

"Why not take it off?" Allura asked, since she was curious and the opportunity was there. 

Lance went still for a moment; she heard him draw a breath and let it out. "Why the hell not?" He shrugged out of the jacket, tossing it over one of the stools, and looked at her. 

Allura tipped her head to the side, wondering why he looked so defiant. "That will probably work better," she said before opening the door to the washer and beginning to place the dishes in it. 

Lance stared at her for a moment and laughed—a real laugh, she thought, though tinged with rue. "Yeah, I guess it does," he said, and got to work scrubbing the counters clean.

So the hood and the jacket were not necessarily a universal custom among humans, Allura decided, merely an affectation peculiar to Lance. That was good to know. 

They finished the rest of the cleaning in silence, but there was a final thing Allura wanted to say to Lance before she could consider her work done. As Lance wiped down the last counter and she set the washer to run, she straightened up. "Your ways are largely unknown to me, Lance," she said, repeating her earlier statement, waiting for Lance to look her way. "That said, if there's anything I can do for you to ease your way, please, let me know."

Lance's smile kicked up the corners of his mouth, crooked. "Yeah, sure thing, Princess," he said. "Will do."

He was lying, but Allura let it pass unremarked for the time being. "I very much hope you do," she said. She inclined her head to him. "Good night, Lance. Sleep well, and I will see you in the morning."

"You too," he said, scooping up his jacket and donning it again. He flipped the hood up. "Night," he said, and left the kitchen. 

Allura sighed. "Stars help us all," she murmured; she was afraid they were going to need it.


End file.
